


transformation

by fairbanks



Series: goretober 2018 [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Goretober 2018, Platonic Cuddling, Werewolves, implied daisy/basira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16233107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbanks/pseuds/fairbanks
Summary: Basira's a werewolf and Jon is a nosy but occasionally helpful shit.





	transformation

  1. **transformation**



 

“Don’t tell Daisy,” is Basira’s only request with any real feeling. Every step of this strange evening taught Jon more about Basira and who she was under the quiet calm, and perhaps this told him the most.

 

“I won’t,” he promises, “though it’s on your head if she realizes I’m hiding something from her and knocks my teeth out.”

 

Basira snorts, soft and quiet, always quiet. Basira’s quiet wasn’t born of shame but still waters, the lapping of a peaceful shore with all the churning deep underneath. All that nonsense about running deep, that was Basira. She certainly surprised him before. Today especially.

 

“So you’re sure this will be alright? I mean yes, I know you’ve done this before but-”

 

“It will be alright,” Basira interrupts. She pulls off her shirt and Jon looks away, out of politeness rather than anything else. What he did see of her back has more scars than he expected, gashes and claw marks. Makes sense now, even if the stories behind them are still a mystery. “You ready?”

 

“Yes,” Jon answers, steels his shoulders and stands.

 

-

 

Basira came to him with coffee, shutting and locking the door behind her. “Black, right?”

 

“Er… yes?” Jon offers, eyes glancing from the door to Basira, paranoia a hard habit to break. He’d like to think this was acceptable, when someone suddenly came in the locked the door behind them it didn’t usually mean casual chats and friendly banter.

 

“I need a favor,” Basira’s quick to the point at least, placing the coffee on Jon’s desk. He regards it, thinks uncharitably of Melanie poisoning Elias and reminds himself firmly of his choice to trust. He takes a drink to make his point. “I need help this weekend and I need someone who can be quiet about it.”

 

“Well, I didn’t realize I seemed the type who could keep secrets.” Jon’s a little flattered, actually, that Basira came to him for… whatever this was. The coffee is good and probably not poisoned, and his curiosity is piqued. “What is it? Why not Daisy, you two seem-”

 

“Daisy can’t know. Not… yet. Not now,” Basira interrupts. She takes off her jacket then lifts her shirt, something Jon sputters at until the mass of scar tissue over her ribs catches his eyes and breath.

 

“Dear lord-”

 

“Have any statements about werewolves?” Basira asks, lips humorlessly quirked.

 

-

 

Over a very long cup of coffee Jon learns a few facts about ‘werewolves,’ as Basira puts it:

 

  1. It is less a curse and more a disease, an infected bite that can be followed by a period of fierce illness before any of the more supernatural symptoms come through. Basira claims flushing out the wound quickly can keep it from spreading, though she only has hearsay and very little experience to prove the fact. No, Jon, she won’t give a statement. Not yet.



 

  1. The newer the infection the less noticeable the shift when it first starts occurring. Basira’s first she didn’t even realize, just sharper teeth and keener scent, just a taste for blood and hunt. Her bones didn’t start cracking until a year in. Does it hurt? Jon has to ask. Yes, Basira tells him flatly.



 

  1. The change isn’t every month, more a buildup of whatever toxin the infection spreads until it forces its way out. Basira manages three or four months between changes now, longer if she really needs. It’s not a good idea, she says, to leave it too long. Because



 

  1. There’s some control in that form, if you time it right. She remembers it, even flush with hunting and blood and a world full of scent and prey. The longer you go the less control there is. The longer you hold it off the more monstrous the explosion when it finally comes to a head.



 

“What do you need from me then?” Jon asks, one of a million questions he has.

 

“I need you to find me a monster a hunt, one we actually want killed. One of the Stranger’s creatures, I guess. There’s too much-” Basira stops, frowns, a tension in her shoulders as she struggles to explain. “-too much tension, too much fight in the air. I haven’t waited long but it doesn’t matter, not with things as they are.”

 

“It’s agitating your ah… wolf?” Jon tries.

 

Basira’s lips quirk. “Not really a wolf, but sure. My wolf.”

“Well that’s simple enough, I’m sure I can find something for you.”

 

“That’s just part of it, I need you to come with me. I can focus on that one prey and not stray to civilians if you’re there to keep me in check.”

 

Jon stares, baffled. “But… I mean, wouldn’t you just- eat me? Bite me?”

 

“I would, normally. That’s… part of my favor. I need you to stay at my flat the next few days, sleep in my bed, get our scents mingled.” Basira only looks mildly embarrassed, which Jon would be incredibly impressed about if his head wasn’t spinning quite so fast. “By the time I change I’ll know you as- well, if we’re keeping with the wolf metaphors than part of my pack.”

 

Jon lets out a breath. “Lord, for a moment I thought you were going to say mate and I- no offense but-”

 

“No,  _ no, _ no offense taken,” Basira’s quick to agree. “There is nothing about you that’s my type.”

 

“No offense taken,” Jon says dryly. “Well… alright. I suppose this will work?”

 

Basira shrugs. “If it doesn’t I probably won’t kill you, at least. Maybe being a werewolf will help you get kidnapped less.”

 

“Don’t make me regret helping you,” Jon tells her with a sigh.

 

-

 

The second night in Basira’s bed is easier than the first, where she admitted they essentially needed to snuggle and they both spent most of the night awkwardly trying not to shift or breath too loud. This time when they both get in bed they look at each other and a tension breaks, Basira’s shoulders shaking with laughter that Jon can’t help but join in.

 

“This is absurd,” he informs her as she wipes at the corner of her eye.

 

“Yeah, not exactly how I saw my friday night going. No offense but you’re too bony for cuddling.”

 

“Why do you start everything you say to me with ‘no offense?’” Jon huffs, and Basira laughs again.

 

It’s easier when they slide together, this time Basira on her back and Jon’s arm around her middle. They’re quiet, peaceful, and eventually Basira admits, “I’m afraid Daisy will think of me as a monster.”

 

“Are you afraid she’ll try to ah…”

 

“Kill me? No, not really. Maybe she would but… I don’t know. She needs me, I think, to be human for her. I want to be, and I am, most of the time.”

 

“Do you- are you two together?” Jon can’t help but ask, and Basira breaths out her amusement.

 

“No. We could be, but we aren’t. When I quit I considered asking her out, no more work complications between us, but… I was leaving her and it behind. I thought I was.”

 

“And now?”

 

“And now we’re all just trying to survive,” Basira tells him.

 

-

 

Jon shouldn’t be fascinated by the gruesome transformation but he is.

 

Basira’s back arches, she howls and spits and screams, bones crack and stick out of skin before snapping back in place. What little she wears rips, blood drips to the floor before wounds close or fill with fur, skin stretches and turns rough. It’s horrible and unnatural, no smooth transition under moonlight. By the time she’s done Basira is a heaving pile on the floor, and she is not quite Basira anymore.

 

The creature in front of him isn’t a wolf, it’s longer than a wolf should be, especially in the snout. It has more than one row of teeth, long long rows of teeth, long tongue and long ears and long, black fur like ink. Jon stares as the creature that is Basira stands, approaches, long tail flicking behind it like brush strokes. For a moment he thinks this is how he’ll die, to far too many teeth and grey eyes.

 

But Basira in the creature does not attack, instead she sniffs him, circles, then rubs her head against his hip. “Basira…?” he tries, throaty, and she looks at him expectantly.

 

Jon swallows, nods. “Alright, let’s hunt.”


End file.
